


Strangers

by ephemeralslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, EWE, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralslytherin/pseuds/ephemeralslytherin
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy the wizard ceases to exist by the hands of some unavoidable vengeful magic, and is replaced by Draco Malfoy the wizard who doesn’t know he’s a wizard. While living a bumbling and confusing Muggle life without a lick of memory regarding his past, he’s stumbled upon by none other than Harry Potter. Harry is, of course, even more confused as to the state Draco’s in, working in a Muggle flower shop of all things and having no apparent reaction to Harry’s presence. It looks like Harry’s found himself a mystery – one that he intends to get to the bottom of.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This story has been a long time in the works and I'm glad to finally be getting around to writing it properly. This story's gonna be one long Drarry roller coaster, so hold onto your hats, folks. Check out my Tumblr if you feel so inclined, percweasly.tumblr.com.

Draco regretted himself. The mirror was his enemy, society his prison. He certainly wasn’t the only one to feel this way about himself. His name was wildly slandered and used with great distaste by nearly all wizarding media and in his hyperbolic pile of letters – generally hate mail – that arrived at all hours during the weeks directly following the Battle of Hogwarts. 

At the time, his actions weren’t anything he wanted to follow through on, but they seemed better than the alternative. If he had to do it over again, he couldn’t really find anything he could have done differently (other than be born into a different, particularly _not-Death-Eaters_ family). Or, better yet, just not been born at all. 

He stopped being able to open and read the letters he’d receive, but somehow unable to throw them away. He knew they all said the same sort of thing; a broken, vengeful threat of some sort from some broken, vengeful witch or wizard who’d lost someone in the war, someone dearly close to them. Draco felt in the pit of his stomach the largest regret for those that had innocently died, regardless of the fact that he hadn’t been the direct cause. And even though he’d been cleared of charges, the world didn’t see it the same way the law did. 

Draco’s life was incredibly lonely (not that the aching loneliness was anything he didn’t deserve). He had more than enough money to avoid needing to seek employment, which was entirely to his favor because he couldn’t fathom any wizarding employer stooping so low as to hire scum like him. His days were typically filled with frightfully Muggle things; his apartment in Muggle London, the Muggle books he’d taken to reading in his spare time (which was quite a lot), the Muggle streets he’d traipse down for lack of anything better to do, the Muggle men he’d meet at a Muggle establishment and eventually shag, etc. But Draco found that he really didn’t mind. Maybe the younger version of him that was so engulfed in his father’s blood purity philosophy would have shuddered at the idea of his current life, but post-war Draco was oddly okay living as a pseudo Muggle, away from the glaring eyes and staggered, heartbroken threats from the wizarding world. He’d even taken to keeping a plain, Muggle journal to occupy his time, and he’d found the written word oddly comforting and especially found solace in creating something that wasn’t so destructive. 

Even so, it really didn’t surprise him that as he was walking along a street in London, wearing frighteningly Muggle attire and unconsciously humming some atrociously catchy Muggle tune, he was corned by a brooding figure in a pitch black cloak, hood pulled and wand drawn, pointed at his throat. 

Months of being willingly separated from the wizarding world had greatly diminished his dueling skills, and Draco found himself being unable to procure his own wand in time to attempt to fend off his attacker. He tried his best to escape the clutches of his attacker, but they put him in a full body bind before he had a chance to react.

Draco was unable to catch a glimpse of the face under the hood, not that it would have done him any good. He didn’t even have a chance to get a word out before the hooded figure slipped a piece of paper in the pocket of his jeans and muttered another curse in his direction. As the wizard’s magic collided into him, he was met with a horrible dread at the realization of the spell which was being cast upon him. _Obliviate._ He felt his mind shut down and his eyes droop, and the last words he heard came from his attacker. 

“Enjoy your new life, little Muggle.”


	2. Chapter One: Chills

It had been nearly two and a half years since the defeat of the Dark Lord, but time hadn’t erased its everlasting impact on Harry Potter’s life. But it went so much further beyond the anticipated nightmares and flashbacks, a certain darkness plaguing Harry’s mind that certainly rivaled any other darkness he’d had inside him. 

Since the war, Harry had declined to return to Hogwarts and finish his NEWTs; he knew he would likely be able to get a job any place he wished simply with his name, even though he now had more than enough money to sustain himself for quite a while without any type of income. A career would be more like something to do, to fill his time.   
He knew he couldn’t see himself joining the Aurors. He’d had quite enough of dealing with good and evil to last him a few lifetimes, thank you, and wasn’t looking to spend more of his life doing that. He honestly hadn’t any idea what he _did_ want to do, but that was okay for now. Instead, he spent much of his time attending Ministry galas and political events that Hermione often had to all but drag him to. 

So, it wasn’t unusual for Harry to awaken at half past ten in the morning without a lick of care, seeing as he didn’t have any obligations that day. Or, even that month, really. It was 31st October, and Harry didn’t really want to be awake, anyway. He didn’t relish being reminded of everything he’d lost. And then, as if his thoughts truly wanted to destroy him, the thought of his parents’ death simply sparked once again the losses he – and others – suffered as caused by the war. It was like a dirty cycle of loss and blame and regret and Harry hated it. 

After absentmindedly throwing on some Muggle clothes, Harry left the flat situated in the heart of Muggle London. He walked a few blocks to the darker alley where he usually apparated from. He figured he could do it from inside his flat, but he thought the neighbors might find it odd to never see anyone leaving or entering, and he wasn’t particularly in favor of having to _Obliviate_ Muggles on a frequent basis. He recognized the necessity of it sometimes, but generally didn’t feel like anyone’s memories were his for the taking. 

Successfully deposited in another alley a few kilometers away, Harry made his way toward a quaint little flower shop, planning to pick up an assortment or two before apparating to Godric’s Hollow to spend the day with his parents. 

He sighed at the ironic cheeriness of the shop, painted pastel pinks and yellows. Shoving open the glass door, he walks inside, the bell clinking to alert his presence. 

“Ah, you must be Mr. Potter,” a voice said from behind the counter that was to Harry’s back. As he turned around quickly, he just missed the man slipping into the room at the back,   
presumably to get his order. 

“Uh, how did you know who I am?” Harry asked warily. 

The voice spoke from the back again, and Harry could hear a great deal of rummaging around.

“Well, we’ve only got one order for pickup around this time, and it’s for an arrangement of lilies (which are commonly used in situations or either life or death) and since you looked quite mopey standing out there staring at the shop, I figured you matched up quite well.” The man’s voice seemed somehow familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Ah, well, yes. I suppose you’re right,” Harry conceded, clearing his throat. “They’re for my parents. My mum’s name was – was Lily.” It felt quite odd having a conversation with someone he couldn’t see properly. 

He heard footsteps approaching and saw the man round the corner back to his place behind the counter. “Right. Well, here you are,” the man said, holding out the arrangement, presumably for Harry to grab.

Harry however, felt as if his arms were glued to his sides. He know was able to recollect why the man’s voice had pricked something in the back of his mind. The blonde hair, although now much longer and less harsh than before, was unmistakable. As was the somehow delicate looking tattoo gracing his left forearm. 

“Are they not what you ordered? Did I grab the wrong ones?” he worriedly asked in the spot of Harry’s silence. “They’re lilies, I know I’m not much good at this job but I know what lilies are.” 

Harry could feel himself continuing to stare, utterly confused, at the man in front of him. “Malfoy,” he finally gasped. “What the _fuck_ are you doing in a flower shop? A _Muggle_ flower shop?”

Malfoy’s expression changed to mirror Harry’s confusion, though for a different reason. “How do you know _my_ name?” 

Harry scoffed in disbelief. “How do I know your name? Malfoy, I’ve known you since we were both eleven. We’ve both tried to kill each other before! I saved your life two and half years ago!” 

Malfoy just stared back at Harry with a blank expression on his face. “I’ve never met you before,” he said. “I’m being genuine. I honestly don’t remember you.” 

Harry knew that Malfoy had basically disappeared shortly after the trials were over and Harry spoke for him. Harry had figured he had flown off to some exotic resort to spend the rest of his days away from everyone he once knew and now weren’t very kind to him due to his Death Eater status. 

“If this is you trying to fuck with me, Malfoy, I swear to Merlin –,” 

“Who’s Merlin? What does that mean?” Malfoy asked, clearly baffled.

“ _Who’s Merlin_ , fuck, Malfoy, I knew you were dense, but come on, really? Do you expect me to believe that after only a few years you could forget me? Forget the entire wizarding world?” After all, there’s no way Harry could forget Malfoy. Not that he tried to think about it often. 

“Okay, look. I’m sorry your parents are dead, but you’re clearly in a bad mood and taking it out on me. Maybe I did know you once, but I don’t remember anything before last year. I woke up in alley not far from here without a lick of memory about _anything,_ and I’ve just been trying to figure everything out,” Malfoy confessed, fiddling with the hem of his jumper and refusing to meet Harry’s eyes. 

There was no way Malfoy was serious. This was insane. But the Malfoy he knew wouldn’t have ever expressed any type of sympathy for Harry’s parents. And this Malfoy hadn’t hexed him yet, which is precisely what Harry would have expected him to do. Harry just stared at him, searching his pale face. 

“You don’t believe me,” Malfoy said softly. “Do you?” 

Harry just threw a few bills on the counter and took the bundle of lilies, leaving without a word. 

The cold October air sent a chill down his spine. Well, at least, he _thought_ it was the wind, and not the incredibly unsettling encounter he’d just had. He didn’t have any idea if Malfoy had been serious, or if this was some way of getting revenge of Harry for any of the number of things that happened in the time they’d known each other. Either way, he was determined to find out.


End file.
